Page 125 of Brooklynaire
But nobody gets there in time. I see what will happen with horrifying clarity. It’s Palacio and Beacon, man againstman.
My goalie is the best in the business. His mind is a rapid-fire calculator of hockey physics. He chooses his position based on a lifetime of anticipating forwards like Palacio. But he’s only one man. His defensemen have failed him, and his only choice is to pick the best option and position for a save. He butterflies against a five-hole shot, but Palacio goes for the shoulderinstead.
All my blood stops circulating as the puck flips neatly into the upper corner of the net and then drops behindBeacon.
The stadiumgasps.
The lamplights.
And just like that, the whole thing isover.
Rebecca and I sit for a moment in stunned silence. That always happens during an overtime loss, when the situation quickly turns in a heartbeat from Anything is Possible toNope.
“Oh no,” Becca whispers, hand to her heart. “Goddamnit.”
I hug her. “Soclose.”
“Goddamn it!” she yells. “Palacio! I’m gonna rip off hisarms.”
Below us the Dallas team is rushing the ice, piling up like puppies, gyrating in wildcelebration.
Becca’s eyes get red. “That should have been us. I’m wearing my lucky bra andeverything.”
I watch all those wrong-colored jerseys circle and sway. I pictured this moment a million times, with a purple color scheme. But I’m also analytical to a fault, and when I walked into the stadium today I knew our odds were only a little better than 50%. I’m bummed, but I’m notsurprised.
Becca buries her face in my shoulder, and I stroke her hair, positive that the last few weeks have given me more than they’ve taken away. The little box in my pocket is yelling my name. But even I know better than to propose to a sad woman while I’m still in range of several dozen TVcameras.
“Let’s go, guys,” Georgia says gently. “Time to go downstairs and smile and show what good sports weare.”
“Oh joy,” Becca mutters. “Can’t we just sneak out theback?”
“In a few minutes,” Georgia says. “I’m sure Nate wants to thank hisplayers.”
That locker room is probably morbidly quiet right now. “Let’s go,” I say, standing up. “The sooner we go downstairs, the sooner we can get the hell out ofDallas.”
“Now it’s my least favorite city, too,” Beccagrumbles.
Downstairs, I exchange a few pleasantries with the only reporters who bother to speak to the losing team. They’re New York news outlets, of course. “The people of Brooklyn can be really proud of how far we’ve come,” I say. Yada yada yada. Some days you’re meant to read from the loser’s script, and there’s nothing to be done aboutit.
Rebecca waits outside the dressing room while I make a pass through there shaking hands. It’s easy to thank these men who’ve given so much to the team. “We’ll get ‘em next year,” I say. “Take a nice long vacation. Rest up. Invest in a Dallasdartboard.”
When I return to the hallway, Becca is flanked by two of my security guys. “Gettin’ rowdy out here,” one of them says, nodding toward the home team’scorridor.
I’m sure it is. Stadium security gets a little weird after a big win like this. Everyone wants to rub elbows with victory, and their joy overfloweth into our adjacentcorridor.
Due to bad architectural planning, Becca and I will have to wade through the edges of the crowd to get to the players’ exit. Security parts the bystanders to let us pass. But when we reach the doors, we’re told, the car has been chased out of its holding spot, the driver sent to do a lap around theblock.
“We could walk,” Bec suggests. The crowd and the blaring celebration music are a littlemuch.
“Not this time,” says Gary, tonight’s bodyguard. “Half of Dallas is crowding around the stadium to celebrate. The car’s ETA is fourminutes.”
“Fine,” I say, placing a hand at the small of Rebecca’s back. “Shall we step outside towait?”
“Lotta cameras out there,” Garysays.
The door opens then, proving his point. Fans congregate just beyond the roped-off area. I’m eyeing the crowd so I don’t notice who has just paused to grind out a cigarette under the heel of her high-heeled boot before coming backinside.
It’sJuliet.
